


I Will Not Ask

by tealobjective



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, First War with Voldemort, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Rumination, Songfic, melencholic, vibey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29787510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealobjective/pseuds/tealobjective
Summary: Remus ruminates over the previous full moon, Sirius leaves on a job for Moody. Something is very, very wrong.Set to the song 'Like Real People Do' by Hozier
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	I Will Not Ask

**Author's Note:**

> The first in a series of one shots I am planning to go along with my 11 hour wolfstar playlist: [remember where we started love](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2GVdV6YZi6hdyCuhKr6Wdr?si=d29b0fc33b5a489f)
> 
> It will span the entirety of their relationship, going all the way to Remus' death. This fic is set in February 1981 during the third section of the playlist; [the war](https://https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1qjiqlKSKsYKGHsyq9nY06?si=db366b6477874eb3/)

_I had a thought, dear_   
_However scary_   
_About that night_   
_The bugs and the dirt_

There is darkness. Where Remus lays smells unfamiliar and there is a sharp poking in his side. An aura of damp surrounds him. He is coming around, slowly. Though quite suddenly he feels a deep suffocating and attempts to fill his lungs, gasping. This results in a mouthful of fresh, wet earth. He turns himself onto his elbows with as much vigour as he can manage, coughing and spitting the contents of his mouth onto-

He opens his eyes a little, attempting to assess his surroundings. The light is dappled, but Remus is sensitive when he’s like this. He immediately shuts them again not having seen much of anything. He collapses back into the crouched position he had awoken in, spitting again. His mouth full of earthy grit and-

And something else. He tastes iron. This he knows. This is familiar. At this understanding his eyes flutter open for a second time. There is green. Remus is laying in a slight ditch, tree trunks making up most of his field of vision. The poking in his side is beginning to become quite intensely unpleasant. Blinking, he looks down to assess the damage. God. Fuck. What has he done to himself this time? His hands and forearms are caked in a horrible mix of deep red and the dirt he’s still attempting to get out of his mouth. It must be his side, something wrong with his side.

He turns to look around for Sirius; finally recalling the night previous in an attempt to place himself in the waking world more solidly. Turning his apparently wrecked body is not as much of a difficulty as Remus thought it should have been. There is something in his gut, a sort of wretched knowing. Something- something here- something is not right-

A movement to his far right catches his eye. Ah, there he is. Sirius. Remus makes to call out but as he turns and Sirius comes into full view, the noise catches in his throat. Sirius has his hands deep in the dirt. He has a sort of frenzied look about him, the kind of look Remus has come to associate with the aftermath of a lost fight, with death or grave injury. Something is very wrong.

Remus looks down again, taking in the foul mess surrounding his body. This is all so wrong. He feels a lump rising in his throat and nausea snakes through him. Retching, he attempts to call for Sirius again- the noise coming out strangled. This is- He can’t have- He- oh god. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. There are hands now, red hands reaching under ruined arms. Oh god. Hands gripping his shoulder blades. Oh fuck. A body close to his and a lurch upwards. Then Remus’ body is limp over Sirius’s shoulder. Please god no. Remus throws up. He is nothing and everything and nothing. Nothing. There was something. Something in the dirt. Something was there in the dirt.

***  
  


_Why were you digging?_   
_What did you bury_   
_Before those hands pulled me_   
_From the earth?_

It wasn’t a particularly cold day. Despite this, Remus had himself cocooned in both of the blankets that usually lived over the back of the sofa. They were normally warm enough that he didn’t mind that they were kind of scratchy. That evening however, they did nothing to quell Remus’ shaking.

He had woken up in his own bed- something he’s learned to appreciate intensely these past few years- though he found the space next to him icy and unoccupied. He had felt the standard post-moon fuzziness as he’d picked up his wand and made his way out of bed towards the kitchen with all the grace and precision of a half-sentient sock. Hot coffee was the only thing on his mind. In the kitchen he’d found a hastily scribbled note on a bit of old parchment:

_‘gone out, job from moody - don’t know when i’ll be back._   
_eggs under stasis? in the pantry_

_love you S.’_

The ‘S’ had been almost completely obscured by a splotch of ink, wet and shining under the hazy glow of the overhead light. So, it hadn’t been too long since Sirius had gone. Remus had poked around the kitchen for a bit, vanishing the days-old coffee grounds, brewing a fresh pot, then practically inhaling the eggs Sirius had left for him. He’d made up an extra milky, extra hot mug of coffee and brought it into the living room. Then he’d pulled the copy of ‘An Unfathomable Cost: A Look into the Art of Curse Creation and Implementation’ from where it had been knocked under the sofa. Considering that Dumbledore had lent it to him, he probably should have been taking better care of it. Wrapping himself in the blankets, he had situated himself in the least uncomfortable position, attempting to warm up, and resigned himself to waiting for Sirius to come home.

Sipping his scalding coffee, shaking still, Remus made a valiant effort to focus on the book. He had just started a chapter on the use of runes in the early processes of curse development, which typically he would have found quite absorbing. Right now, however, didn’t feel quite typical. It felt- he wasn’t sure. Unsettled maybe? There was a kind of disquiet in his chest that he couldn’t place. He frowned. Why was he so clean?

Although, why did he expect to be covered in dirt? Dirt and –

There was something. A sharp poking and the smell of damp and someone digging. Who had been digging? Remus felt an overwhelming guilt surround him as he tried to concentrate on where he had actually been over this moon. He had been safe, he remembers, safe with padfoot at his side. Away from the pack, for the first time in a long while. He almost felt the rough stone floor, almost saw the glow of a fire and sensed the open rawness as he attempted to piece together the fragmented events of the previous two days. Remus felt each sliver of a moment slip through his mind, just out of his reach, falling away before he had a chance to make sense of it. The haze of post-moon had this time become more of a smog, keeping something important from him. Maybe something quite bad.

Remus put ‘An Unfathomable Cost’ back where he found it, (Dumbledore be damned) and drained his mug – coffee now lukewarm. Missing Sirius’ presence immensely and unsure of what else to do, Remus rose with considerable effort, stiff limbs aching. He let out a groan as he stood, something that was becoming all too common for him these days. A ghost of a smile crossed his face as he was reminded of James cheering him on: ‘There you go grandad! You can do it!’ Maybe he should write to James. He was always insisting that Remus talk to him if something was wrong. Remus was lost in his thoughts as he dragged his feet towards the kitchen. He missed the sink completely when he went to rinse his mug, sending it to the floor with a clash. Excellent. With a sigh, Remus hunched down, picking up all the bits of broken mug. He’d quite liked that one.

The intrusive sound of mug hitting linoleum should have been enough to bring Remus out of his rumination. However, he was still unable to calm his thoughts. He followed each fleeting image around his mind, looking for an answer to this shroud of shame that had come to settle over him. Detached, he almost didn’t register the sharp cut into the soft flesh of his palm. Placing the collected shards of china back onto the ground, he turned his palm upwards. Bright blood was slowly trickling down over Remus’ wrist. He quickly brought palm to mouth and sucked at the wound. Warm and metallic, and-

Oh. There had been blood on his hands.

Remus stood with a jolt, stumbling backwards and hitting his head on the kitchen cabinets. Fucking hell. Still sucking his palm, and now rubbing the back of his head with his other hand, Remus made his way clumsily out of the kitchen and down the hall. Getting to the bathroom, he pulled his t-shirt over his head. With a flick of his wand, the bath plug fit itself in the drain and the taps began to gush. Removing his trousers and pants, Remus stood, still shivering. He braced himself on the edge of the bath as stuck his fingertips in the water. Scalding. He quickly healed up the cut, then climbed into the tub. Only his feet were covered at this point, and it burned. He sat down quickly, not waiting to adjust. As the water continued to flow, he frowned down at his hands, noticing for the first time since waking, the thick dark gunk under his fingernails. Not that Remus wasn’t used to having hands covered in who knows what, but after this evening's unpleasantness, he didn’t love the implication.

He shut off the taps, noticing the water was now beginning to splash against the rim of the tub. Then he took the bristled brush from the soap dish and began scrubbing at his nails. He thought of coming inside for tea as a child, after hours alone in the garden elbows deep in muck. Of his mother hauling him to the bathroom, looking at him with her eyebrows raised and handing him a scrubbing brush. The untold order not to come out until he was spotless. He missed her. Another person he should probably write to. Steam was collecting in the small room, thick, coating Remus’ throat as he drew in each breath. It made him light-headed. He laid back, submerging all but his knees and head under the surface. He was rotting, the blistering water doing nothing to lull the sense of grim foreboding. He continued to scrub. Back and forth; an almost mechanical movement. Moving from his fingers down over his palms, the recently healed wound felt tender, itching. He needed to be rid of it, this something, this happening he couldn’t quite recall. Soap and scrub, lathering himself in his unknown sins. Rinse, washing away. Rinse, soaking in his greatest fear. Hot water, fresh blood – how different were they really?

Time was moving strangely for Remus, having woken up so late in the day. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been in the bath, but by the time he was ready to get out, the water was frigid. He hadn’t thought to re-warm it. He stood, considering that maybe sitting curled up in cold water for some indeterminate amount of time wasn’t the best thing he could have done for his post-moon body. Dripping, he made a reach for his towel. He stepped out of the tub and stretched, extending his joints, pushing through the resistance. He crunched up his face as he took a deep breath. A cloud of emptiness seemed to descend around Remus as he picked up his dirty clothes, leaving the sanctity of the bathroom and wandering to the bedroom.

He pulled out a clean t-shirt and a fresh pair of pants then fished his pyjama bottoms from the wash basket in the corner. Sitting on the edge of the bed while dressing, Remus shuddered. It was as if his body was trying to exorcize itself of this strange torment. Then he was moving, though it felt closer to floating, and he found himself back in his spot on the sofa. This was to be his haunting for the night.

***

_I will not ask you where you came from_   
_I will not ask you, neither should you_

_Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips_   
_We should just kiss like real people do_

It was late, or maybe early morning when Remus heard the familiar snick-clunk of the front door. The sound instantly snapped up Remus’ attention. He blinked, shook his head and pulled the blankets tighter around himself from where they had fallen limp. Turning his head, Remus was temporarily blinded by the glare of the balcony light as Sirius opened the door and crept into an otherwise unlit sitting room. The sight of Remus must have been unexpected, because as Sirius turned, he jumped a little.

‘Oh. Hey. I… didn’t realise you’d still be up’ Sirius said, eyebrows furrowed. Remus attempted a smile. It turned out more like a grimace.

‘Where have you-’

‘Don’t. Please.’ Remus knew he shouldn’t ask. ‘Fair enough’ He conceded.

‘You look hurt- let me see.’ He extended an arm over the back of the sofa to reach for Sirius, beckoning him over. As Sirius came to him, Remus could make out a dark bruise blooming over the right side of his face. He cupped Sirius’ cheek in his hand, gingerly brushing a thumb over the blotchy, swollen skin.

Sirius took Remus’ hand, drawing it away from the damage. ‘It’s not- really- as bad- as it looks- you know.’ he murmured between placing tender, light kisses to Remus’ knuckles. Remus didn’t believe that for a second.

‘Come here and let me have a go at healing it, you valiant bastard.’ Remus gave Sirius a little shove to prompt him around to the front of the sofa. Sirius shoved him back, aiming for an air of playfulness, but mostly coming off a bit defensive. ‘There’s no reason for you to go around looking like you’ve had a brawl with a hippogriff.’ Remus chuckled a little as he said this. If Sirius was going to pretend everything was okay, Remus would go along with it. He had been stewing and spiralling for hours and it felt… nice, sort of refreshing. To have just a moment with his love that wasn’t drenched by a backdrop of wretchedness. It felt like a luxury.

Sirius collapsed down next to him, clearly aching for rest. ‘Actually, you’re not far off about the hippogriff’ he said with his eyebrows raised in a kind of smirk. Remus scoffed.

Drawing his wand to Sirius’ cheek, Remus placed a thumb under his chin; tilting Sirius’ face upwards. He began to mumble the incantations as he performed slow, methodical movements over the bruise. The pink spread at first, darkening to a maroon, then deep purple in the hollow of Sirius’ right eye. Something had definitely gotten him good. As Remus kept working, the colours in Sirius’ cheek developed as if weeks were passing.

Sirius put fingers up to his face, feeling Remus’ handiwork. ‘Leave it a bit yellow Moony, I wanna show Prongs’

‘Mmm-hm’ Remus responded curtly. ‘I’m sure James will love to hear of your most recent brush with death.’

‘To be honest, I think he’d prefer yours. Much more interesting.’

That broke the spell that was holding over the both of them. ‘What the fuck, Sirius?’ Remus snapped. Sirius looked affronted. ‘Moony-’ he started.

‘No. I’m actually not doing this right now.’ It was the something. He couldn’t- Sirius couldn’t _joke_ about this. Remus rose with unexpected force, and none of the groaning or aching that he had woken with. He scowled at Sirius, receiving a completely bewildered expression in return, then strode to their bedroom. He slammed the door.

Sirius had been falling back into many old habits recently and thus, followed Remus, disrupting the attempted retreat. As he entered the room, Remus was in the thick of the familiar battle with the window. His elbows sticking out every which way- grunting slightly. It had stuck a few inches from the bottom during Sirius and James’ second week at the flat and opening it was a daily effort. ‘Here love, let me give it a go’

‘No- I- Just have to-’ Remus continued to push, squatting a bit and locking his elbows, both hands on the bottom rail. ‘There’ he panted, as he forced the window up. Turning around to Sirius, he looked a little wild. ‘Fuck. Padfoot, where are my smokes?’

Sirius shrugged and looked around the room, scanning the surfaces. It was looking pretty desolate. Remus grabbed his coat off the floor and began rifling through the pockets. God, if he had to go down to the offy at this hour- and he didn’t really have the money to buy a whole new pack. Eventually, Sirius found a forgotten (mostly empty) pack under the bed, possibly from weeks ago. Remus slumped against the wall and motioned for one. Pulling out two kind-of squashed rollies and pocketing the rest, Sirius flopped down to the floor under the windowsill. Lighting both with the tip of his wand then passing the less squashed one to Remus, he looked as though he might say something.

‘Don’t.’ Remus pleaded, head back and knees up, eyes to the ceiling. It would just be too much. Maybe they could just sit for a while. Maybe it could be okay. Sirius turned to him with a confusing sort of expression. In some sad sort of way, Remus knew what must have happened. But it was late, and the moon was still waxing, and he couldn’t really comprehend the gravity of it all right now. He took a drag of his smoke, letting it fill him up.

‘Kiss me, please?’ he let out with his next breath, and Sirius did.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is going to become quite a long project, so look forward to more.


End file.
